Shadow Touched: A Paranormal Vampire Romance (A Touch of Vampire Book 1) by Becky Moynihan (great reads TXT) 📕

a black button-down shirt, he appeared older than I remembered. Or maybe the dark bruising under his eyes made him seem so. His normally shiny obsidian hair hung limp and dull over his forehead, partially shadowing his dark eyes. His face was paler too, cheeks gaunt and sallow-looking.

He looked as awful as I did, and the thought of him suffering the way I had this past month tore at my heartstrings. Still, I couldn’t go to him, couldn’t comfort him. We weren’t supposed to be near each other, and I knew he didn’t actually want to be here.

I bit my trembling lip and forced myself to turn away, to pick up the pillows I’d thrown. My body ached as I bent over to retrieve them, as if punishing me for turning my back on him. I straightened with a grimace, moving slowly toward the couch.

“McKenna.”

Every muscle in my body painfully seized at the sound of his voice. The silken quality was now raw and gravelly, but I violently responded all the same. Breathing became impossible, and I dropped the pillows to clutch at my heart before it exploded from my chest. I doubled over, gripping the couch for dear life as I struggled to remain standing.

“Why?” I whispered, digging my nails into the leather. “Why is this happening?”

He didn’t respond, didn’t move toward me. I was relieved. And frustrated. And so freaking confused. We held our positions for what felt like an eternity, me trembling uncontrollably against the couch and him stiff as a board in the hallway. Until I couldn’t stand it any longer. I was weak, my body screaming with a need I didn’t understand but knew I couldn’t fight.

There was only one thing I could do. One thing that would ease both our suffering. I knew the consequences, knew that he could very well refuse me, but I was so tired. So freaking tired of fighting, of staying away, of ignoring what I felt.

A tear slipped down my cheek as I raised my eyes to his and uttered one word. “Please.”

For an awful second, I thought he’d ignore my plea. Thought he’d turn his back on me and walk back out that door. Then he was moving, not away but toward me, erasing the space between us in three long strides. Then stopped. Inches separated us. Terrible, terrible inches.

“P-please,” I said again, not caring how desperate I sounded. “Hold me.”

His chest rose and fell sharply as I reached out with trembling fingers to tug at the pillows he was strangling. His grip eased and they tumbled to the floor. He continued to hold himself back, the tendons in his neck bulging from the strain. A deep groove bisected his brows, his eyes twin pools of pain.

And I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t stand it a moment longer.

I stepped into him, initiating contact. When he still didn’t move, I twined both arms around him and pressed my face to his chest, breathing in deeply. Amber, sandalwood, and musk enveloped me, trickling inside to partly fill the hole beneath my sternum.

At the warmth, at the soothing relief, I heaved a sob.

The sound stirred him awake and he was suddenly everywhere, his arms tightly locked around me, one gloved hand cradling the back of my head. The hole filled up to overflowing and I fought to be nearer, fitting myself to every part of him I could reach. He wedged a leg between mine, pressing his thigh to my core. I moaned into his shirt, digging my blunt nails into his back. He growled in response, sliding a hand down to cup my backside.

He ground his thigh between my legs and pure energy charged through me, splintering my vision to white. I cried out and arched into him, asking for more. His leg continued to move against me and I rode it without restraint, needing the release more than anything.

As we clutched each other, there was no confusion. Only a surety that this was right. Us. Together. Everything made sense.

He squeezed my backside, using the grip to press me more firmly against him. My movements grew frantic. I chased after the pleasure, panting as it intensified to the point of pain. But it was the best kind of pain, so wild and reckless that I begged for more. Until my body burst from its moorings in sheer ecstasy.

My head fell back and Lochlan grasped the nape of my neck, holding me while I shuddered from the pleasurable aftershocks. When I sagged in his grip, utterly spent, he tucked me against his chest again. For several minutes, he made no move to pull away, and neither did I, content to hear the steady rhythm of his heart.

An angry growl suddenly erupted between us, startling me. A soft chuckle surprised me even more. I tipped my head back in time to see the most devastatingly beautiful thing I’d ever laid eyes on.

Lochlan was smiling.

25

“I think that was you.”

His mouth was moving, but I couldn’t seem to concentrate on the words. Not when his lips were still tilted in the most alluring way. Lochlan was unquestionably handsome, but with the addition of a smile, there wasn’t a word adequate enough to describe him.

“Holy fate babies,” I breathed, realizing too late that I’d spoken out loud. When the smile deepened, revealing his left dimple, I almost keeled over from a heart attack. “S-stop that.”

“Stop what?” the mouth said.

“Stop”—I swallowed loudly—“smiling.”

The lips cruelly teased me, forming the most charming lopsided grin. “Why?”

“Because I—I can’t handle it.” Fates, I was so lost. So lost that I wanted to name his mouth. And dimple. They deserved names. My fingers curled into his shirt. Oh, how I ached to touch his lips, to feel how soft they were.

A vicious rumbling cleaved the air again.

“That was definitely you.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

“Your stomach growled. You’re hungry.”

Oh, I was definitely hungry. I wet my lips, still focused on that delectable mouth. But it pulled away. The arms around me retreated